


Two Back, Three Forward

by scratchedandinked



Series: Deaf Oswald [2]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Deaf Oswald, Established Relationship, Homophobia, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mutually respecting crime husbands of course, Sign Language, but have no fear, f slur twice and some general rude remarks, just a LIL domestic bits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-17 16:39:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14193201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scratchedandinked/pseuds/scratchedandinked
Summary: Ed is given new shoes to match his rising status. They are lifted and announce his every step. Ed finds it invigorating, but some seem to think he's acting a bit too feminine-- and makes sure he knows.Good thing he's got it in with the Mayor of Gotham and King of organized crime to serve justice and make sure Ed feels at ease again.





	Two Back, Three Forward

**Author's Note:**

> All ASL dialogue is in italics and not in quotations.  
> xo

 

Oswald was a generous man. Despite being in a city where exchanging favors for power was the status quo, he gave openly and freely. He gifted Edward small trinkets for his office and cufflinks for City Hall meetings. They were all sincerely picked and carefully wrapped. They were never given for  exchange between them, so when Ed found a shoe box a week after their argument over Oswald’s hearing aid, he couldn’t help but feel like an apology was being extended to him.

“Sir, you left these?” Ed spoke due to another man standing by Oswald’s desk. While the entire staff was made very aware of the new language being implemented, everyday citizens were not made aware. Oswald didn’t know about the full extent of his hearing loss for the  _ years _ it took to the point it needed intervention and the thought was why should anyone else?

“Mr. Nygma,” Someone else being present also meant that they only spoke professionally. “Yes, I did.” Despite Oswald’s new hearing aid, tuned and finally perfect after a week of fiddling with the technology, his speech was becoming  _ less _ sharp. The corners of his words were rounded and became lost in his throat. “I thought, given our last discussion on the matter, that you might require a new pair.”

“Loafers not light enough for you, Nygma?” The stranger pulled Eds attention with a snort of laughter. He was rugged looking, salt and peppered facial hair and recently unbruised eye. He wasn’t from City Hall and Ed knew better than to start an argument in the Mayor’s office. Oswald didn’t seem to hear the man, his eyes still looking at Ed with a prideful smile on his lips.

“Thank you, sir. I shall try them on at once.” He gave a polite grin before bowing and turning to leave. He tried to avoid overhearing Oswald’s continued conversation with the stranger, but the aggressive tone from both sides could not be overlooked despite the distance Ed gave the room.

Ed walked to his own office. The wooden floor tried to echo the steps of his rubber heeled shoes, but it could only muster a soft thud. He sat in his desk chair and kicked off his old, but not at all worn, shoes. The shoe box wasn’t disguised beyond a simple string bow and note resting on the top.

_ Edward, _

_ Please take these as a sign of my appreciation for your support and cooperation. I hope these make things easier for you _ .

_ Eternally yours, _

_ Oswald _

“What is he thinking?” Ed muttered. He removed the lid and placed it on his desk, resting the box in his lap; Ed remembered something vaguely from either his childhood or something Oswald had said about new shoes on a table.

The shoes were gray suede, a lighter gray material contrasting on the shoe’s tongue and along the arch. The thin leather laces were green. Of course they were. Ed chuckled softly as he placed the shoes down by his feet. They slid on easily but felt perfectly snug. They were tight under his arches and stiff around the back of his heel. Ed flexed his toes and knew they’d break in easily, as had everything in the job.

He stood, prepared to return to Oswald and ask him if his assistance was needed-- with the gruff man or otherwise-- when his own steps began to echo. The sound was sharp, cutting through the ground and rippling outward to the rest of the room. The hard heel  _ clacked  _ against the wooden floor making Ed’s pace pronounced even before he could be seen. Typically, his strides were shorter and faster, with his new shoes he felt himself trying to elongate the space between his steps. If it was his entrance, he wanted it to bring suspense.

Ed practiced his new stride on his way back to Oswald’s office. He pulled his shoulders back, head lifted and trying to avoid staring at his new noisy feet. The hall echoed Ed’s steps and he felt like he was his own stampede; it gave Ed a tingle of power, the corner of his mouth quirking upward. He tried to wipe the grin off his face before stepping into Oswald’s office, but the man was already looking up at the door, expecting him.

“Oh, sir.” Ed was startled. “I hadn’t even knocked.” Even then, Ed typically had to walk up to Oswald and tap him on the shoulder to alert him he had entered his office.

“I know.” Oswald seemed very pleased with himself. “I heard you.”

“Of course.” Ed lifted himself off his heels if only to plant them back down firmly. “Is your guest still here?”

Oswald shook his head. He looked down at his desk to push a stack of envelopes together. Ed waited for him to lift his eyes to sign.

_ Thank you, Oswald. I love them _ .

_ I knew you would. _ He was too smug for Ed’s liking-- but he  _ did _ think the look was good on Oswald.

_ Is everything settled with your… appointment? _ Ed wasn’t sure of the man in Oswald’s office, and it didn’t seem like Oswald cared for him either.

_ Disgruntled citizen _ . _ What else do I have first thing on a Friday morning? _ He threw his hands up and rolled his eyes.

_ Is there anything I can do to help _ ? Ed approached his desk, noting the piles of paperwork. He wasn’t exactly authorized to fill out any of it, but he had studied Forensic Handwriting Analysis. He knew how to fool a non-profit or two.

_ Actually, could you deliver these _ ?

_ Post office? _

_The precinct_. Oswald held his hands still, waiting for Ed’s face to twist in surprise before continuing. _Fundraising dinner next week. While organized crime pays well, they do have more money than they know what to do with_ _and I want to sway them with a hand delivered invite_.

_ From your  _ **_Chief of Staff_ ** . Ed laughed.  _ I’m not the same as you. _

_ Very true _ . Oswald nodded.  _ Better _ .

“Oh come on.” Ed said aloud, shaking his head. The flattery was one-dimensional and easy, but Ed still didn’t expect it. He rolled his eyes and reached over to take the letters from Oswald. The stiff beige envelopes fit nicely in his jacket pockets, along with his hands. “Be back soon, sir.” He pursed his lips and gave a semi-committed glare at Oswald before spinning on his heels and walking away. At least now his exit was just as pronounced.

Ed took one of the cars from the mansion down to the precinct. The driver seemed concerned that Ed was walking so directly into the police station with his  _ situation _ . A murderer walking into a police station did seem illogical, but so were many of the donation events Oswald had to throw so Ed figured the two would counteract each other. A cop raised a gun at him and he could lift an envelope, all in the spirit of doing their jobs.

The police tolerated Oswald, but not Ed. Especially since many of them knew him _before_ he was sent to Arkham. They hadn’t gotten to know the real him. Few did, but that couldn’t remain Ed’s problem.

The concrete steps sounded sturdier under his feet, every step like two stones clacking together. Every walk to work was not  _ nearly _ as invigorating as it was that morning.

Ed was going to drop the envelopes off at the main desk in the lobby. Against Oswald’s order, but with his better judgement; walking into the precinct seemed in poor taste if they wanted any donors. The woman sitting at the desk was on a telephone call, but noted Ed with a lifted finger. Ed had the hilarious thought she could have been calling the police on him. He leaned against the elevated desk and counted the invitations, waiting.

“Oye, Nygma. How’s the lobotomy?”

“Vin, hello.” Ed had thought of the possibility of running into old friends turned morally-polarized enemies. He  _ hadn’t  _ thought of running into people that he hated even before things began to unravel. Regardless of what he’d done, their hatred was far more elementary, far more childish. Far more irritating to Ed.

“You know, I always saw you as a prison bitch.” Vin laughed to one of the men near him. They didn’t seem part of the conversation, but once a target was acquired, the other man became another enemy.

“I beg your pardon.” Ed blinked. He placed the envelopes on the desk ledge and stepped forward.  _ One. Two _ .

“Even on the outside, you’ve gotta be somebody’s wife… Poor Nygma.” Vin continued.

“I don’t understand.” Ed wasn’t following and the thought angered him further. He had nothing to spit back with if their insults made no sense. “I’ve simply  _ walked  _ in here.”

“You had us all thinking a broad was strutting up, Nygma. We turn around and see  _ you _ .” Vin waved a disgusted hand out to him. Ed clenched his jaw and exhaled through his nose; Oswald needed them to donate for a greater good, not get money for Ed’s court fees when he drug the growing group of men to their own spot in the forest to rot.

“Is there something inherently  _ feminine _ about my walk, Vin?” Ed had heard this before in high school.  _ And  _ college.  _ And  _ grad school.  _ And  _ at the GCPD. He was following a particular stereotype-- _ whatever _ . “Twink” or not, Ed was  _ at that moment _ getting away with murder, and was about to add three more to the total.

“He ain’t limping.” A man beside him sneered, a crude hand gesture illustrating  _ how _ and  _ why _ Ed could be limping. Ed wasn’t sure if he was supposed to be shocked. He and Oswald had done worse-- had been less than six hours before.

He blinked slowly, waiting.

“Nah, Benny. It’s those fucking shoes. He sounds like a whore.” Vin was full-on  _ guffawing _ as he pointed a crooked trigger finger at Ed’s new shoes. “Where you borrow them from? Mommy? Or did you steal them from Krissy after you were finished playing--”

“Don’t you dare talk about her.” Ed seethed, pointing at Vin. He stepped forward, ready to charge them, but his footsteps only fed their laughter. The clacking began to feel like slamming symbols, the entire room trying to find the source of the comotion-- and being amused when they saw a tall, professionally dressed man rather than a nicely dressed female worker. “These shoes are a gift from the mayor I’ll have you know.”

“Oh. Well, then that changes everything.” Vin said, turning to Benny. “Then Nygma’s playing house with the mayor! The city’s being run by a bunch of fruits--”

“I would stop talking if I were you.” Ed said tensely, his teeth clenching and voice getting raspier. His senses began to dip in and out as he stared; He was going to say something that was going to get Ed arrested. “Don’t upset Him.”

“Oh no. Watch out, fellas! Audrey Hepburn’s gonna run us down.” The men all pretended to stagger back. Ed’s feet felt stuck to the ground. The sound was suddenly a giveaway, to what, Ed didn't know, but everyone seemed to be thinking the same shameful thing.

“Can I help you?” The woman had finally ended her phone call. “These from Mayor Cobblepot?” She looked at the return address.

“Yes. Please hand them out before the turn of the shift.” Ed smiled at the woman, hoping to deceive what else he had accidentally been projecting to the lobby. The men were still laughing and he could still feel his face flush and pulse begin racing. He wanted to relinquish control, to enjoy every second of quickly plotting their demise-- but Ed couldn’t let Him take control. This wasn’t His fight; it was Ed’s; pre-crime, virgin, one-room apartment to cope with empty space and loneliness Edward Nygma. And those men were trying to insult him long after he had been retired.

The darker side of Ed would have been enraged they were questioning his power, but grad-school Ed was still bubbling with rage from hearing a boy call him “Fag Nygma” every day in lecture.

He stepped forward, his shoes announcing his movement. The first sound was hesitant, Ed’s legs shaking as he approached the group of now five men. He only knew one of them, but they all definitely knew of him.

“Does your husband know where you are?” A young man teased. He was younger than Ed, his attitude accumulated from his surroundings. “Shouldn’t you be home making breakfast, Doll Face?”

“Don’t insult me.” Ed demanded, his footsteps becoming like claps of thunder. They rang through the lobby, Ed feeling them rattle his own bones. “I do not give warnings, Vin. Consider this an order.”

“Are you threatening an officer?” He began to smirk, his hand sliding around his belt. Gun, cuffs, baton-- and Ed knew how to dodge them all.

“If he wants to follow me outside. I can be.” Ed had never gotten in a fight back in grad-school. The dining hall even had a senior food fight that Ed purposefully pretended to sleep through.

“You gonna show me what you do in prison, pretty boy?” Vin laughed again. “You are sick, Nygma. Go back to hell where you came from, fag.” He found his own insults hilarious, leaning back into the assurance of the other four police officers.

“I’ll be sure to take you with me, Vincent.” Ed said, gritting a smile.

“Drop dead.” Benny said. He spat at Ed. Benny’s spit landed on Ed’s glasses, an easy fix. The other four joined and Ed was less spared; all four aimed for his shoes. “You bring a bad name to public service, Nygma. Resign and let the men take care of these jobs.”

“I am not a  _ woman _ .” Ed argued, unsure what the comparison and Otherness was supposed to accomplish. “Would you leave me  _ alone _ !”

“Last time I checked, you came into my place of work, Nygma. You sauntered in here looking like an absolute  _ fireball _ , doing the mayor’s grunt work--”

“Doing a lot of gruntin’, huh Eddie?” Benny clapped his hands as the other men took a moment to catch up to the apparent  _ complexity _ of the innuendo. “The whole staff passing you around?”

“My personal affairs have nothing to do with any of you.”

“He’s our mayor.”

“And I’m on his staff.”

“You can say  _ that  _ again.”

Ed felt a failed rage flood him; his younger, kinder self unsure what to do in the face of such irrational dislike. Grad-school Ed returned to his back corner, leaving only darkness. Before the men could high five, Ed stepped up to them and grabbed Vin’s shirt in both his hands.

“Come to the event next week and say that to the mayor. Go ahead, I  _ dare _ you, Vincent. Come and say that to me when it’s just us.” He seethed. “Or do I frighten you, Vincent.” His voice dropped lower and Ed blinked his vision back into clarity. “I think I do. Rough, city beat-cop is frightened by a little noise.” Ed clacked his heels against the floor, like firecrackers to startle a small dog.

“You better get your hands off me, Nygma. Don’t make me drop you--”

“You’re assaulting a police officer--”

“Hey Vin. You seen Tom lately?” Ed sneered, lip curling. Vin’s jaw tightened, but his face paled under Ed’s uneasy stare. “Yeah, me neither.”

He shoved Vin back, nearly knocking the other four men over as he stumbled. Ed tugged on his lapels, quickly wiping and adjusting his glasses. No one had noticed the altercation, or if they did they were smart enough to stand aside.  _ God _ , power made Ed feel weightless and grounded all at the same time. It was exhilarating to get away with it, right in the GCPD’s own house.

“I can be made. I can be played. I can be told and I can be cracked.” Ed smirked, folding his arms behind his back. “What am I, gentleman?”

“Your fucking skull, Nygma.” Benny growled. “Stop with the queer riddles and get the fuck out of here before I get the commissioner in here.”

“See you around, gentleman. Do take care.” Ed nodded to them and made his announced exit. The lobby was already emptying, but Ed couldn’t help but feel like the walls and floor were parting just for him.

On the ride back to the mansion though, Ed’s rush crashed. He looked down at his shoes, still covered in spit and scoffed on his first day off wearing them, and felt powerless. Even though he was able to get in the last word,his weaknesses was obvious. His shoes showed it. He should have used their rag-doll bodies to polish the floor before putting it under his feet.  _ Should have should have should have _ .

“Great, now you just look like an idiot.” Ed huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose under his glasses. The driver pretended not to hear, clearing his throat as Ed began grumbling to himself. “You let them get away with it again, Nygma. They called you that  _ word _ .” They wouldn’t slip through his fingers that easy. After all, Benny was right; more than  _ jokes _ could be cracked.

The car stopped and Ed could feel the driver’s eyes run out of places to stare. He looked back at Ed, hands twisting on the steering wheel as if afraid to come off. He was held hostage by his own discomfort.

“Mr. Nygma,” The driver spoke through the rear view mirror. “is everything alright?”

“Never better.” He said.

“Should I alert Mr. Cobblepot to--”

“You will not speak to him on my behalf.” Ed snapped, shoving the door open. “I am more than capable.” Perhaps the  _ most _ capable.

He went straight for Oswald’s office from the car. It was nearly noon by then and Oswald would be hung up in meetings until at least dinner if he wasn’t in the middle of one already. Meetings were deliberate affairs for Oswald, requiring his full concentration to keep his attention on each person. Ed consistently offered to be a note taker for the meetings, but Oswald always insisted putting things in writing was unlike many of the tradition of the people he made deals with; handshakes were enough. Often, Oswald’s office door was closed for the meetings, but as Ed approached his office the door was wide open and the desk empty.

“Oswald?” Ed said, barely above a whisper. It was of no actual use. “Oswald?” He banged his feet as he walked into Oswald’s office. He took repeated small steps on the wood floor, hoping to ring Oswald, wherever he was in the house.

The other staff members mulling through the house, files and folders in hand, stared at Ed as he passed them in the hallways. He couldn’t miss Oswald before a meeting, or worse before he went out into the city himself without a warning of the scum at the precinct.

Ed came to a tumbling stop in the dining room. Oswald sat peacefully at the table with the newspaper, teacup in hand.

“Were you imitating a horse, Ed?” Oswald said, turning a page. “Or is that your call to me?” Ed approached the table with normalcy, sliding into the chair on the closest adjacent side to Oswald; he liked reading the paper sideways anyhow.

He waved a hand in Oswald’s field of vision.  _ The letters were delivered _ .

_ No issue _ ?

_ No. _

Oswald pursed his lips and smiled. He reached over and grabbed Ed’s chin, squeezing his cheeks with his thumb and forefinger. His other hand spoke.

_ I don’t believe you _ .

Ed gritted his teeth and flexed his jaw under Oswald’s fingers. He was not powerless. He was not bothered.

_ Do we have a new arsonist in our Rolodex yet _ ? Ed asked, face still being examined by Oswald’s amused, knowing smile.

_ We do _ . Oswald nodded.  _ What did you do _ ? He asked Ed with a laugh, but Ed also knew he wasn’t taking the topic lightly.

_ I would like to send a message _ .

_ We need arsonists for that _ ?  _ I’m sure I’ve done it with far less before-- _

Ed grabbed Oswald’s hands, needing the stillness and silence to find an answer that wouldn’t make him look laughable at Oswald’s grand dining table. Oswald let Ed silence him, fingers curling into his own palms. He pulled his hands from Ed and rested them on the table, waiting.

_ Give me food and I live. _ Ed said.  _ Give me water, I die. What am I? _

_ Fire-- hence the arsonist. I understand _ . Oswald replied. He nodded at Ed, attempting to look patient and understanding despite the confusion furrowing his face.

_ An old coworker of mine thought it wise to insult me _ .

_ And you want to… burn his house down? _ Oswald guessed, already reaching into his breast pocket for a pad of paper.

Ed stopped him, fingers curling slowly around his wrist. Oswald released his jacket and let Ed take his hand. The touch was rare and that much more intimate. Eyes and voices were all around the house, but none seemed to find them hidden in the dining room. Their fingers slid over one another and grazed calloused palms. The touch was soothing and more grounding than any rush of control could feel for Edward. But it was the same touch that was getting Ed spit on in public, getting his final typed thesis burned in grad-school, getting the world to think of Ed as an Other.

“Oswald, I feel ashamed.” Ed spoke aloud, half hoping that his admission would go unheard.

“What of? Ed, speak to me. It’s just us-- I’ll be able to understand.” Oswald urged Ed softly, pulling his hand to his chest. The entanglement was dangerous in the open the room, but also beautifully tempting.

“I was called a ‘fireball’ today. Again.” Ed said, trying to clear his throat to disguise his tone, despite Oswald needing it to decode his muffled words.

“A what?” Oswald asked. “I think I misheard you. A  _ fireball _ ?”

“Do I have to explain it, sir?” Ed asked shortly, shame draining warmth from his body despite Oswald’s closeness. “ _ Oswald _ , sorry.” He tried to fight his urge to retract from their intimacy as doubt clouded his vision.

“And you want to send them a message.” Oswald circled back to Ed’s original point.

“You want a  _ flamer _ ? A  _ fireball _ ? Well, this f-fah-f-” The word was the most painful, its own separate burn across his tongue. The word defeated him. Ed fingerspelled the three letters to Oswald, feeling more comfortable being able to say it looking into Oswald’s eyes than hearing himself say it aloud. “Well,  _ I _ am going to bring you an entire inferno with bribed firefighters standing and watching your life become ashes.”

“I-I will make the calls for you, but, Ed, what caused this? What happened exactly?” Oswald still gripped Ed’s hand, running his hands over the top of it as if he was wringing his own hand.

The truth would upset Oswald, but lying would only make the truth gouge deeper. Oswald was the only person that made honesty painful.

“They heard me coming.” Ed moved his feet out from under the table, harmlessly wanting to look at the gift again, but was reminded quickly that he hadn’t cleaned them since getting back. They still had spit on them.

_ What is that _ ? Oswald’s one hand signed though still holding Ed’s hand.  _ Spit? _

“Four of them."

“ _ Four _ ?” Oswald shouted, hands echoing him. “What in God’s name for!”

“I sound like a woman when I walk.” Ed tapped his heels against the floor again. “Like high heels.” The sound was inherently different to Ed though; his shoes had a lower, wider sound with every step rather than the pin-prick clacking of high heels.

_ The shoes _ ? Oswald pointed.  _ They wanted to pick a fight over shoes _ ?  _ Well. Wasn’t the first one of the day. _

Ed had been sure that morning that Oswald hadn’t heard the disgruntled man’s commentary. He never took his eyes off Ed, waiting for his response as the only one in the room. Oswald tracked the confusion across Ed’s face. He pointed at Ed’s subtly furrowed brows.

_ You don’t hide irritation very well, Ed. _ He laughed.  _ And you want to make it more obvious-- about a thousand degrees more obvious. _

“If you don’t want to help me, I can do it myself.” Ed said sharply, pulling his hand from Oswald’s touch. “I don’t have to take their abuse-- or yours.”

“I didn’t say that.” Oswald spoke again, catching Ed before he could fully push himself away from the table. “I’m just stating the situation. Now, I didn’t get to where I am now by reacting to every single thing said about me, Ed--”

“Oh, no I see. I’m being ridiculous!” Ed scoffed and stood from the table. “They insulted both of us. I was a  _ prison wife _ to them.”

“Well, we all know that’s not correct--”

“And you were never the manipulated, helpless follower to Falcone  _ or _ Maroni that people thought. That’s not correct. And you made sure people  _ knew that _ .” Ed clarified, using his hands only to point at Oswald. “I am in a place of power to  _ unsettle _ the ground beneath me. And I don’t care if it’s spitting on my shoes or on my grave those men will  _ pay _ .”

“You know, Ed, your ambition has always been my favorite thing about you.” Oswald looked up at Ed and smiled with pride; a test had been passed. “Sit and have lunch, then we’ll make the arrangements.”

“So you’ll help me?”

“I will be contacting my cobbler  _ and _ my arsonist this afternoon.” Oswald nodding, lifting his tea cup. “I must have my Right Hand thought of as highly as I think of him.”

_ Thank you _ . Ed bowed his head with gratitude.  _ The favor is very much appreciated _ .  _ First the shoes now-- _

_ They are not favors. It’s repayment. For everything you have done for me. I’d still be a purposeless wreck if you didn’t find me after my mother’s passing _ .

_ Oswald _ . Ed always knew their relationship was built on respect and gratitude, but very few times was it expressed and stated clearly by either side. It was wonderful to hear, chasing away the cold words clinging to him from the precinct.

_Please, sit and have lunch with me_. _I’m doing the crossword_ _and require_ ** _your_** _assistance_.

Ed sat back down at the table eagerly. He laughed softly, trying to take in all Oswald’s finished clues. He got significantly less far than when they did it together. Oswald began asking him clues as Edward reached over to take his teacup, sipping from it carefully. The tea was too sweet, but Ed held onto it anyway.

He found very little to complain about in that moment. This was the exact thing he had been made to feel angry and rageful about not an hour earlier. Ed felt a sense of pity as he watched Oswald fingerspell his guesses, trying to count the number of letters in each, but not for the man before him. The idiots he ran into were wasting their energy being mad about  _ this _ : two men doing a crossword in their shared home. Under the table, Ed kicked off his shoes and lifted his feet to rest on the edge of Oswald’s chair.

_ Still like your shoes _ ? Oswald asked, placing a hand on Ed’s feet. Ed nodded, slowly placing the cup down.

_ I do, but I will need another pair. _ He said.  _ Better make them fire resistant _ .  _ And perhaps taller. _

_ That can absolutely be arranged, dear friend. _


End file.
